These Hands
by vivasjm8
Summary: A late night conversation in the galley.


**Spoilers for the series and BDM. Don't own anything...Joss is god.**

**These Hands**

Serenity is quiet; well, as quiet as she ever gets with the constant low heartbeat of her engines. A sound I now find oddly comforting as I sit at the kitchen table, just to the right of where the Captain usually sits, drinking a late night cup of tea. For some reason I actually feel completely relaxed. River has been much more stable since the events of Miranda several months ago. Her nightmares have either stopped or she has found a way to cope with them on her own, and her drug therapy seems to have stabilized. Kaylee and I also seem to have come to an agreement about our relationship, that although we both find each other attractive and sociable, that perhaps, we weren't meant for anything more than just friends. The physical aspects of our brief love affair were, at best; awkward on my part, but Kaylee had been ever the patient shining star; just as she had always been from the moment I came aboard Serenity.

My ship. That's what Serenity is, but she means so much more than that to me; she's home, comfort, safety, freedom…family. A family that has been sadly torn apart not too long ago. I now occupy the replaced pilot's chair starring out at the black, occasionally at Wash's dinosaurs, which will always remain, no matter what happens aboard Serenity. At night, when it's quiet like this with just the engine's heartbeat I think of Wash, Book, and the sacrifices everyone on this ship made in exposing the truth of Miranda. I can only hope that River's brain doesn't hold any more secrets of the sort, I don't think my ship, my crew, or my heart could handle it.

As I get up from the chair and make my way towards the galley I can't help but notice Kaylee's bunk door is shut; it seems she and the Doctor are no longer sleeping together. I can't hide a wistful smile that crosses my lips; I'm not the lecherous hump some believe me to be, so I am sad for her if she is hurting. But, I told her that she shouldn't go working too hard on that crush. At the time it was because I thought I might have to space the boy and his sis, but the more I got to see Doc and Kaylee interact, the more I realized that the Doc just wasn't all that comfortable with women-folk, not that he is particularly comfortable with men-folk, or any-folk for that matter. At least when is comes to being sociable. When he is being a Doctor, well, an entirely different aspect of Simon Tam is brought forth as he works his miracles. And when did I start noticing the gorram Doc's comfort level? I can't help but release a long suffering sigh, shake my head and roll my eyes at myself for that thought.

I pass Zoë's bunk, it is quiet as it always is lately, but I know she is probably awake, or in that place between sleeping and awake where she can still feel Wash's presence. But Zoë is ever the soldier; responsible, respectful, honorable and forever loyal, she will persevere. It's sort of funny now, looking back on it, that she didn't even like Wash and his gorram mustache when he signed on board. "Yeah, well," some part of my brain interrupts my thoughts. "You didn't like the Doc much either." What? Where the hell had that come from? Why do I care what I felt towards the Doc when he came aboard my ship?

The Captain is entering the galley from the direction of the cockpit, looking somewhat wistful. He's probably been starring out at the black again think about his ship, his crew, maybe Inara. But no, probably not her, while she has come back to the ship and renewed her lease on the shuttle she and the Captain have moved from the barely disguised sarcastic innuendo phase of their relationship from before she left, before Miranda, to a more relaxed banter. More of a friendship and mutual understand of each other than that of the blind lust driven phase of before. The Captain is wearing his ever present brown pants and boots, a reminder of his sacrifices during the war, soft cotton button-up shirt, the blue one that makes his eyes stand out, and those damnable suspenders.

"Evening Captain."

"Evenin' to you too Doc. What brings you up to the galley at this fine hour of the night?" He asks me as he goes to the stove to make a cup of tea. "Would you like me to heat up enough water to refresh yours?" Here he motions to my almost empty cup of tea in front of me.

"Yes, thank-you." I reply as my mind races wondering where this is coming from. Since when does he care why I may be up late at night or been cordial enough to make me tea? "I just couldn't sleep is all, nothing to do with River."

"Huh?"

"You asked why I was awake and I was providing a response."

"Oh yeah, I did didn't I." He replies with that smirk that I have seen close business deals or make situations erupt into fights be they with fists or guns or on occasion swords. "Glad to see your sis doing better since…glad to see her doing better." He adds.

"Yes, I too am glad that whatever demons seem to haunt her mind have retreated and she can function much more like the River I grew up with. Brat that she is. And her role as ship's co-pilot seems to have given her a renewed sense of purpose; although I'm not entirely sure where she may have learned to fly. I can only assume that she gleaned enough from Wash's mind to understand the mechanics of it, or perhaps it is just one of the many skills that just seem to come naturally to her." I say as I get up to prepare my tea, since the water is now hot.

We fall into a companionable silence as we fix our drinks and make our way to the table, I retake the seat I previously occupied and the Captain sits in his normal chair at the head of the table. "Since when have our silences become anything but tension ridden and fraught with unvoiced and un-acted on threats?" I wonder as I ask, "I notice that you don't really sleep much Captain. Is there something I can help you with?"

"No Doc, just the norm for me since the war." He looks down at his mug, the tea is finally cool enough to drink and he takes a sip to keep himself from saying anything more.

"Interesting, probably a form of post-traumatic stress, if you want me to give you something…" I begin, looking at his bent head only to be suddenly interrupted with a, "I don't need anything from you Doc, dong ma?"

I recognize the tone in that statement for what it is; an order to drop the subject, a tone that I didn't recognize or, perhaps, respect until very recently. I decide to let it drop, it seems that we have finally come to an understanding and I don't want to further upset the Captain.

"Doc."

"Please Captain; you should really just call me Simon. At least, when I'm not acting as ship's medic. Besides, legally, I doubt I still have any claim to the title as I am sure the Alliance revoked my licenses at the same time they crashed my accounts." The Doc's words seem to have a bitter tone about them that I only hear used in regards to his fugitive status. It's a tone I've heard before, hell, it's a tone I've used before, it's a tone that says, "my job does not define who I am anymore, it is simply a title, I have become someone else, someone different, someone I sometimes don't really recognize." Like Sergeant or even, sometimes, Captain has become for me.

"Well then Simon, for the purposes of this conversation and those that don't require use of our roles as doctor or captain I do believe we could use each other's names."

At this he furrows his brow giving me that look that says "this man has completely lost his mind."

"Besides Simon, just 'cause they took away some fancy piece of paper that says you're a doctor don't mean you ain't. A damn good one at that. Hell, even those fancy Alliance docs that patched up our after the Miranda transmission said that some of the wounds that you patched up over the past year had remarkably little scarring." Since when do I compliment the Doc, or say its okay for someone to use my name without the title? I must be getting soft.

"Cap—Mal, thank-you." Simon says quietly with a small smile.

"And I think a couple of the nurses to a shine to you while we were there, not that you could have noticed since you were practically…"

"Dead." Simon provides.

"Yes, that." I say with an awkward swallow of my tea. "That's a new feeling," I think, as I realize exactly how much is hurt to see Simon lying there, bleeding to death on the cold metal floor of Mr. Universe's moon base. Again we fall into silence, this time there is a bit more tension as we are both lost in thoughts about all that was taken from our lives in that short time surrounding River's triggering.

During this time I take a good look at Simon. He's begun wearing his vests and dress shirts again, tonight it's a white shirt with the dark blue/black vest he was wearing his first day aboard Serenity. The top buttons of the shirt are undone and his hair is longer than it was that first day, but outwardly it seems he has gone back in time. Since Ariel he had taken to dressing more casually, as though he could finally let his guard down, like he was finally comfortable with his new life. But now, since Miranda, especially since he and Kaylee went from lovers to friends he has worn his more formal attire more often than not. As I ponder this for a spell the reason hits me; he blames himself. He blames himself for Wash and Book and all the other deaths that hwun dan Operative brought down on our heads. He blames himself because he rescued River, and it was her they were looking for, hell, he probably even blames himself for River's condition. And because of this he is holding onto the one thing he has left from his old life and wearing it like armor. Then I look at his eyes more carefully, and yes, there is that look; the one that is all too familiar to me, as I have worn it all too often since the war. It's the look of a man who knows too much, seen too many horrors, and feels that he should have been able to prevent them, it's the look I refer to as "if only." If only the Browncoats had had more supplies, if only we had had more competent officers, if only I had been able to ease the passing of my fellow soldiers, of only the angels had come. Yes, that is a look I know well.

"Mal, what is it?"

"What?"

"You were looking at me like I knew all the secrets of the 'verse. What is the problem?"

I want to say "the problem is that the gorram Alliance stole away your sister, your life, your friends, your family; you are not to blame for any of what has happened over the past few months, hell, years." But, I know it isn't something he wants to hear so I simply say "Nothin'."

Then he does something that I would describe as very River-like, he tilts his head just slightly to the right as if listening to a sound in the distance and looks right at me as if he could read every thought in my head. And I find I don't really mind the idea of letting him in my head, of letting down the barriers of my mind that I never let drop around anyone, even Zoë. Then the moment passes, he shakes his head at some internal thought and takes another sip of tea.

"Would you like some more tea Captain? I was thinking about making more." He asks almost as if he is silently wishing I'll stay because he needs the company, doesn't want to be alone with himself. I find that I have no desire to leave, and because he forgot and used my title I simply say, "Sure Doc."

My hand reaches for his mug and I make my way over to the stove. As I go I notice the Captain, no, Mal, is still watching me with that knowing look, that look that says, "I understand why you can't sleep nights. I understand about the nightmares of dead friends, Reavers, River in that place, of bleeding to death, dying, alone. I understand."

And to be honest, I'm glad someone does, that he does. It's something that Kaylee couldn't understand, not with her ever optimistic outlook, that Jayne can't understand with his shaky morals and self absorbed nature, River probably understands, though I don't understand her most of the time so, maybe not, Zoë probably understands as well, but she is too full of grief at the moment and I feel too guilty to accept her understanding.

"So, what's out next job?" I ask him just to break the silence. "And will it require the use of my vaunted skills as surgeon?"

"Hmm?" He says coming back to the present. "Oh, probably not. We just have a simple transport job, legal even, so there shouldn't be any bullets flying."

"That's good; simple, smooth."

"Yeah, well, you know my history, things never seem to go according to the plan, so don't be surprised if I do require the use of your infirmary."

"And why do you think you would be the one there?" I inquire as I return to the table with our drinks.

"It usually is me." He states simply and I can't help but let out a small laugh, my first one in, well, weeks, maybe months, maybe since that damn bounty hunter shot my in the leg. No, I don't need to think about that now.

"That's nice." He breaks me out of my thoughts.

"What is?"

"Your laugh, don't hear it often, it's a nice laugh."

Did the Captain just compliment me?

"Thank-you." I look down into my amber tea then because I don't want him to see the emotion in my eyes. An emotion that I haven't dared to feel in a very long time; hope. Hope that maybe, just maybe, I have a place in the 'verse, that maybe my sister will finally be alright, that we might be safe, that I might have actually found a family that will love us no matter what horrors I dream about or blame myself for.

Then, out of the corner of my eye I see Mal tentatively, shyly, reach out his strong, tanned and callused hand and place it on my smaller, paler, but still strong and skilled hand that was lying on the table until his hand completely covers my hand.

"Simon," I begin softly once I see that I have his attention. His eyes slowly traveling from our hands to my eyes, matching mine blue for blue. "You're not alone."

This simple statement seems to reach him in a way that nothing else could and a single tear well up and rolls from his beautiful eyes in an overt display of emotion that I have never seen from this man; who may just be stronger then I am when all is said and done. Then he nods his head slightly and wipes away the tear with his other hand, not moving the one I am holding and again says, "Thank-you."

In that moment he looks at me and I see recognition there. Recognition that, no matter what, the crew of this ship will help him, he and his sister are truly part of our family, my family, now. That, may all the gods help us, even Jayne will protect them and look after them in his own way. Recognition of a kindred spirit out here in the black, that I too have lived through hell, that I survived, broken, yes, like he now is, but willing and able to take the chance to put ourselves back together. Stronger. Together. Recognition that he really isn't alone.

"Simon."

"Yes, Mal."

"Tell me something about yourself."

"Like what Mal?" I think he likes to say my name.

"Like what made you decide to become a doctor?" Simon looks down as though the memory might be painful, but he doesn't withdraw, which I take to be a good sign, so I give him some time to gather himself.

"I don't…I don't really remember a time when it wasn't what I wanted to be. No, that's not right." He says, looking up now. "I don't remember a time when it wasn't what my father wanted me to be. Even before River was born all I remember is him always telling me 'My son, the brilliant future doctor-to-be' or something else along those lines. So I worked harder and longer than anyone else my age and it all came easily for me. Then my sister was born and my life took on a new light. Even then, when she was just a baby, I would do anything for her. If she would cry at night I was the one who was there, not our parents. If she was hurt or scared it was me who would comfort her, take care of her like no one else could or would. As she got a bit older and it became apparent that she was even smarter than me, I'll admit, I was a bit jealous. I thought that maybe my father would favor her more, but no, I remained the doctor-to-be and River was my brilliant sister who wasn't really understood by anyone but me."

At this point in the story he pauses, takes a sip of his tea and I wonder if he is going to continue, but he hasn't moved his hand in mine, and I figure he is mentally editing what he is going to say next.

He begins again, "As I got older I was always ahead of anyone my age when it came to academics, so my peers were mostly older students who found me quite odd, didn't understand me, or were jealous of me. So I threw myself even more into exceeding academically. River was always there, helping me learn, teasing me, being a brat in general, but I think she always knew that I needed something separate from her. So, while she far out stripped me when it came to math and physics and most other sciences, she shied away from biology, anatomy, physiology; the more medical sciences. She helped me study, of course, and pointed out inaccuracies in my texts, but she let me shine in those areas. And thankfully I loved them, from my first introductory biology course I knew, with every fiber of my being; I wanted to be a doctor. It wasn't just my father's wish anymore. It was mine."

Again, he stops his story; I think that it is for the last time, since he did answer my question. But then, quite suddenly, he removes his hand from under mine and starts to examine both of his hands, turning them over and over, like they were wondrous objects that even he couldn't believe were a part of him.

"I knew from then on, these hands would be used to save lives."

"And what very fine hands they are." He looks at me then as if he had forgotten I was there, quirks a smile at me and says, "Yes, I do believe you have made the observation in the past that they are 'lily-white and pasty'."

Ah yes, Canton. "I was simply stating a fact and the description was in regards to your entire person. What I meant by you having fine hands is that they are very good at what they do, that you are very good at what you do. That you always know exactly how to handle each person you treat. And when I called you a 'moneyed individual' I didn't mean it as an insult. I meant it as a compliment. I told you your first day here that you weren't weak. Yes," I say, holding up my hand to forestall the inevitable interruption. "You come from money, but you, unlike that Asserton Wing fella' worked for a living, at a damn taxing and honorable job too. And I respect that. I respect you."

We're both silent for a moment and the air is tense with something indefinable, as if, in the next few minutes the entire future of the 'verse depends on what happens between us. Then, looking deeply, piercingly into my eyes he takes my hand in his, gives it a strong yet gentle and perhaps loving squeeze and says, "Mal, thank-you."

Three words, a look and a touch that say more than any words can describe. Three words, a look, and a touch let me know what my brain and heart have been screaming at me for a little over a year, I was just too stupid to listen. Three words, a look, and a touch and all I can say is "Simon."


End file.
